as he was sitting thinking about how to invent a way of controlling your horses minds and making them give you tea and buscuits.
then as he was thinking a poem floatd into his head.
becoming the half celery stick
you threw away at breakfast
finally in control
but is it worth it
how many nights
are spent head in pillow
eyes scarred by non existant onions
as if peeling away layers of life
thinning like an old mans hair
attemped escapes all unsuccesful
the bars are just to strong
and my fingers are to frail
i need help out of this prison
he knew he was agreat poet yet he had no friends to hear his poetry.
Suddenly, a little girl alked into the clearing.
" hello" The white knight said.
"Good evening sir" Said the little girl